Wizard in the Middle East
by Genghiz Khan
Summary: When the Istanbul School of Magic learns of the existence of Harry Potter, they decide to whisk the twin of the BWL out of the country. The young Potter is all too willing. But somewhere along the way, he stumbles upon secrets of some powerful and dangerous people. And these secrets aren't meant to be known...
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Hello all. A description of the story can be found on my profile. Thank you for reading this, and I'd love any feedback and reviews you choose to give me. Writing fiction is an experiment for me, and I'd love to receive as much feedback as possible.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is the property of J K Rowling and Warner Bros. I make and intend to make no money out of this. I am very grateful to them for letting me play around using their blocks.

* * *

**Prologue**

"Harry Potter!"

Durga jerked up at the unexpected sound, looking up from her desk at the man who'd just barged into her office.

"So?" she asked, her voice challenging.

The man stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Harry Potter, Durga! Can you believe how much the English must have spent to hide him?"

Durga shifted irritably in her seat. "So?" she asked testily. "No, don't Elijah," she stopped him as he opened his mouth to protest. "He's a boy named Harry who has the famous last name of the saviour of the wizarding world. Have you ever considered how common the name Potter is in England? And where did you encounter him anyway?"

"Surrey," came Elijah's reply. "I'd gone to visit those damnable relatives of mine. I was passing through a neighbourhood in the vicinity of a school and saw him."

"And you just happened to recognise him?" asked Durga amusedly. "I'd expect that from an Englishman, not an Israeli."

Elijah waved her away irritably. "I saw him apparate," he said. "He apparated onto the roof of a building. I was surprised. I mean, come on! How many kids his age can apparate?"

Durga was sceptical. "Apparition?" she asked dubiously. "You could be mistaken, you know. Apparition is not a skill typically seen in potential magi. Maybe he turned invisible and ran up a flight of stairs?"

Elijah stared at her. "Durga, I'm a professor at your school. Surely my skills count for something."

Durga gave him a wry smile. Elijah rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, moving on," he replied primly, "he is a mage and a Potter."

"How are you sure about the last part? And even if you are, he could be a distant relative."

"He's not," Elijah's eyes were shining with triumph.

"There's one reason I think you're wrong," said Durga promptly. "_Lily and James are still alive!_ Their son Ethan is the boy who lived and he lives with them."

"I know!" exclaimed Elijah. "Will you let me tell you the reason?" At her nod, he continued. "I checked his records at the school. You know just how easy muggles are to fool when it comes to these things.

"His parents were a Lily and James Potter, who were killed in a car crash around 6 years ago on Halloween. He is living with his relatives, a muggle family knows as the Dursleys. I don't know how this came to be or anything, but listen to this."

He paused for dramatic effect. Durga, her curiosity sufficiently baited, was not aware that she was holding her breath.

"Petunia Dursley," continued Elijah, a shine of triumph in his eyes, "is Lily Potter's blood sister."

Durga let out the breath she was holding in a gasp, shock flooding her system. This seemed… absurd. The Potters were alive, and their son wasn't with them?

"Maybe they don't know he's alive," she suggested.

But Elijah was shaking his head. "Impossible. You know how close they are to Dumbledore, right? I followed the boy to his place, and I found traces of wards. A bit of probing that night confirmed their presence, and guess who the caster was?"

"Albus Dumbledore?" guessed Durga.

"Right in one," replied Elijah. "Odds are they know exactly where he is, and have him there for some reason no one knows of."

"But why would they do that? Wouldn't they have greater control over his development in their own place?" asked Durga.

Elijah shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me either. But it took me a week to track all this information down, so I want to make something out of it."

Durga knew where he was going. "No," she said immediately. "If it's true, there's too much effort involved in bringing him into my school. I'm not getting involved."

"But why not?" argued Elijah. "He could be powerful. Heaven knows we need someone truly powerful in this area."

Durga sighed exasperatedly. Elijah could be such a child at times. "We'd have to get him to Istanbul. You know just how hard it is to decouple a minor's magical energies from the nexus of wards surrounding a country. First you'd have to get an authorised ministry official to do that. Then you'd have to get a passport made, get a Turkish Visa and everything. You'd have to explain everything to him. You'll have to do all the paperwork for getting him funds from the trust fund for promising orphans. And finally, you'll have to be his sponsor, because you found him. You're the one nominating him. Do you think you can handle all that?"

"You'll help me, of course," replied Elijah immediately. "You're the headmistress after all."

"Elijah," replied Durga, "I'm old enough to have fought against Dumbledore in the First World War. You want me to handle paperwork?"

"Yeah," replied Elijah blankly.

Durga rolled her eyes. There was no way of getting past Elijah in this fashion. Time to change tactics. "How can you guarantee that we'll do a better job than Hogwarts of training him? Hogwarts was the engine behind the mighty British Empire. On which the sun never set, mind you. Hogwarts trained Wellington. It gave substance to Wellesley. It made Albus Dumbledore what he is today. It has been the undisputed king of light magic schools for nearly four centuries now. We, on the other hand, started just after the First World War, when this shelter-cum-refuge was converted into a school. Hogwarts is a castle. It has tradition. English tradition."

Elijah was smiling. Almost as if he'd expected this question from her. Durga thought of closing her eyes, but she didn't. While she didn't think that Elijah's wish was worthy of being considered, the man had a way of expressing his views which made you inclined to adopt them. And so she waited. Maybe Elijah would come through for this boy.

"You made the point I wanted to make yourself," replied Elijah smiling. "Light magic. Hogwarts has an orientation. We don't. We have a greater diversity of subjects than does Hogwarts, and our methods are definitely way more different from theirs. Hogwarts is a place for the training of aristocrats and Englishmen. It makes them into servants of the state. It teaches them magic according to the standards set by the European Council of Wizards."

He began pacing in front of her. "If this boy is able to apparate wandlessly at the age of seven, then there's a good chance that he's not very suited for the kind of magic they teach there. There's no focus on wandless abilities there at all, their superiority with wands is just that much. Hell, the British Wizards were able to quell goblin uprisings with the power of their wand magic.

"We can teach him wand magic here too. If he's as good in wand magic as Dumbledore or even James Potter, we'll allow him to leave for Hogwarts when he turns eleven. But if he's not got any aptitude for wands, then it makes more sense to train him here. Maybe he can become a necromancer, a bloodmage, or who knows, maybe even an alchemist!"

He turned to her with shining eyes. "He needs to be a fighter, headmistress. This place can teach him that. He can learn fighting in many forms. Hand-to-hand, muggle fighting, whatever he wants! His twin, for yes, even their birth dates are same, is probably under the tutelage of Dumbledore himself. This boy, on the other hand, has been left out alone to dry. If push comes to shove, he can learn a bit here before he goes off to Hogwarts, giving him some form of idea about the usage of magic and advancing him in front of his peers."

He lapsed into silence, his eyes riveted on the headmistress's face. Durga stared at him, her eyes focussed on nothing as she considered. His argument was good, but it would be a gamble. The Potters were not a particularly well known clan, but their child's defeat of Lord Voldemort was known all over the world. They could come demanding their child be given back to them. While it was unlikely they would succeed, the legal fees incurred by the school would be substantial. The headmistress was prepared to do all she could to defend her students, but Durga knew that she could not justify such an expense for just one student.

But the possibilities were endless! There hadn't been a wizard from Europe or Britain studying in the Middle East for decades. While it was likely that he would have no potential for any of their magics, Durga had an instinct that this boy was someone she wanted in her school. Elijah wasn't really one to be easily impressed. While her wayward fencing master had adopted some outlandish causes in the past, his most recent one being a crusade for house-elf rights, Durga was tempted to go along with his arguments this time.

She rose to her full height of six feet three inches. Herself a practitioner of body-magic, her constant practise of her art had left her body in fine athletic form. While she did have grey hair and lines on her face, she had never seen anyone who had managed to guess her true age of a hundred and forty five years. She looked and worked like a woman a hundred years younger.

"We'll need to test him, Elijah," she said, moving towards the door. Elijah nodded as he stepped forward to open it in front of her. Another reason Durga put up with him and his eccentricities. There weren't many gentlemen left for all the Islamists filled in her school. While none of them were extremist and all of them deferred to her authority, they rarely had the youthful charm this twenty-something year old could lay claim to.

"Yes ma'am," replied Elijah smiling, falling into step beside her. "The normal test for everyone, then?"

"Yes," replied Durga. "I presume you saw his academic records?"

"I did," confirmed Elijah. "He's just learning English, regrettably, and no other language. I don't think his relatives signed him up for anything else. His marks are good, though. Top end of the class. His maths is also pretty OK. For a seven year old at least. He's being taught some science. I don't know the details of the English curriculum, but I'm guessing it's pretty bad."

"Don't be presumptuous," replied Durga. "They're Britons. They ruled my previous country, India, for two hundred years. There's got to be something in their education which allowed them to do that."

"Well, yeah," replied Elijah, uncomfortably scratching the back of his head. "Well, then there's his history and geography, which is all centred on Britain. What else? Oh, and his voice is not made for singing, according to his class teacher's notes. And she also noted that he's thin for his age. Probably due to his relatives not feeding him enough."

"Hmm," Durga slowed her strides. "Maybe you should buy him some nutrient potions from England. Heaven knows they've got the best potions masters in the world."

"They do?" asked Elijah dumbly.

Durga rolled her eyes. "The art originated with the druids of the region, Elijah. They've got the longest and the best tradition of making them. Honestly, did you sleep through history?"

"Pretty much," admitted Elijah with a boyish grin. "I never liked the subject."

"For your sake, Elijah," replied Durga with a long-suffering sigh, "I hope your pupil does not follow your wayward ways."

Durga stopped in front of the door she had been walking towards. She knocked hard and waited. Elijah straightened his back and put on a more serious expression.

The door was opened by a man in his late sixties. His face was lined and solemn. His eyes seemed filed with great knowledge and his mouth was set in a grim line.

To a man who did not know him, it would seem as if that face was incapable of forming a smile. But smile he did as he noticed his visitor. "Headmistress, please come in," he said, gesturing both her and Elijah to come in. "Master Goldstein, what a surprise to see you come to my rooms."

"The pleasure's all mine, professor Asad," replied Elijah stiffly.

"Please, do sit," he said sweeping over to his own chair behind his desk and pulling out a plate of biscuits. "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please," replied Durga immediately, knowing about his fascination with Latakia coffee beans. She herself was very partial to them. She slipped into Arabic. "I have a favour to ask of you, oh Mualim."

"Do go on, my lady, I am ready to help you in any way I can," he replied.

"I have found a potential student who needs to be brought here from England. He is a Christian. However, my instincts tell me that his safety and well-being could be important to us. Will you be the one to test him?"

"I understand your concern, headmistress. No one will do any harm to him if he is competent, I can guarantee you that. Who will supervise his transfer from Hogwarts?"

"He is eight years old," replied Elijah in the same language. "There is no need for a transfer."

"His parents have agreed?" asked Asad.

"He is an orphan," replied Durga.

"I see," said Asad. "Do you plan on having him retain his United Kingdom citizenship?"

Durga exchanged glances with Elijah. "We do, as the paperwork for transferring citizenship to a country outside the European Union is monstrous," replied Durga. "We also want him to be able to return to his home country if he so chooses. It is his birthright, after all."

Asad nodded. "I agree. Who will go and receive him?"

"I will," replied Elijah, looking at Asad in the eye.

Asad simply raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Madame Durga?"

Durga nodded, having anticipated this. Get together a Jew and an Arab in a room and leave for an hour. The recipe for a perfect headache. Thankfully, the physics teacher was more level headed than the hot-headed fencing master and did not antagonise him further.

"Very well," he replied. "I'll need a transcript of his academics till now, reports by his class teacher or homeroom teacher or whatever and probably even medical history if possible. I know that orphanages aren't the best places for a child to grow up, so it's best if I can get as many details about him as possible."

Durga nodded. "I shall see to it. Anything else?"

"Well, about the funding for my latest project…"

"I just suddenly remembered, I have work elsewhere!" exclaimed Durga. Any excuse to get out of hearing about his project. Asad's face fell, but he nodded.

"Perhaps later, then," he said.

_Perhaps never, _thought Durga savagely as she hurried out, Elijah trailing behind her hurriedly saying goodbye. She turned towards her office and began walking briskly, eager to put some distance between herself and the Arab.

"When do I leave?" asked Elijah in Hebrew.

"Immediately," she replied, slowing slightly, allowing the shorter man to catch up. "Get the paperwork done as soon as possible and pray to God he's as good as your instincts say he is."

Elijah groaned. "That was the reason you asked Mahmud, right?"

Durga grinned. "On first name basis, are you now?"

"No!" exclaimed Elijah. "It just slipped out."

"Right. Now go!"

"Yes, ma'am."


	2. Getting the Boy

**Chapter 1**

"Sir?"

Horace Slughorn looked up at the boy who'd spoken. The room was deserted apart from him and the boy. An affable smile graced his face as he looked at the 16 year old.

"Yes, Tom," he replied. "Tell me, what happened? You should be on your way to your dormitories now, no? It's almost curfew."

"Sir," replied Tom. "I wanted to ask you about something I read."

Horace frowned. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" he asked, wanting to go to sleep himself.

"Please, professor?"

Horace melted. He could never seem to deny his favourite pupil anything if he asked nicely, it seemed. He walked back to the chair in which he had been sitting during the meeting of the Slug Club and gestured for Tom to take a seat, which he did.

"Now," said Horace mock-sternly. "This had better be good!"

Tom smiled. "Yes sir, I think it is. You see sir, I was reading about some myths, I'd found a book on them and it piqued my interest. I came upon a term which I'd never heard mentioned before."

"That's quite a feat for the term," remarked Horace amusedly. "I know just how much you like to collect knowledge."

Tom laughed. "Indeed, sir. The term was the Sixteen Outriders of Hell. Who were they?"

Horace stared at Tom, a pit of unease building inside his stomach. "Tom," he asked softly, all traces of levity gone from his voice, "where did you read this name?"

"A book, sir" replied Tom smoothly, seemingly unaware of his professor's change in demeanour. "It's a handwritten book I got from a junk shop in London. Apparently, the muggle proprietor of the shop had no idea what the contents of the book really were."

"The knowledge you seek, Tom," responded Horace, "is dangerous. I do not think it would be in your best interests if I were to tell you what you ask for."

Tom's shoulders slumped. His eyes turned to look at his feet. "I understand, sir." He moved so that he was looking Horace straight in the eye. "But I was hoping that you could tell me. I mean, you're my head of house, sir, and quite possibly the only father figure I've ever had…"

His voice trailed off. Slughorn swallowed the lump in his throat. Tom had that effect on him. He didn't know what it was about Tom. And not just Slughorn. From what Horace knew, Albus was the only person immune to Tom's charms. He sighed.

"All right," he said resignedly. Tom's face broke out into an eager smile. "But this is strictly academic, OK? This knowledge is dangerous for a very good reason, you know."

Tom nodded solemnly. Slughorn nodded approvingly at him. "Good. So, the Sixteen Outriders of Hell, is that so?

"Legend says that the summoning of the Sixteen led to the sinking of Atlantis. The island of Atlantis, Carthage and Rome were locked in a titanic struggle over land and influence. Carthage was a maritime power, Rome was a land-based power and Atlantis was magically perhaps the most advanced nation at that time. The legions of Rome had just engaged Hannibal and his elephants and Atlantis saw this as a means to eliminate two of its opponents with a single strike. And so they decided to resort to the summoning arts.

"While a detailed description of the summoning arts is beyond my ken, seeing that it has never been taught in England, I do know that there are several classes of demons in Hell, and the Outriders are on the top of that hierarchy. They are the bodyguards of old Lucifer himself and quite possibly the greatest fighters in pure hand to hand combat in the three realms.

"The Atlanteans summoned them to this world. But somehow they could not control them. Now we know why. It's impossible to control demons of such a high order. Such demons can break the combined wills of thousands of magi attempting to hold them down. And that's what happened. The arch-demons took thousands of Atlanteans as slaves into their own realm and rampaged across Atlantis itself. The few ships from Carthage which braved the stormy seas around the island arrived to see no trace of the island anywhere. It had sunk to the sea bed.

"But that was not the end of the Outriders. They survived the destruction they had wrought and landed in present day France, in what was then known as Gaul. The danger was finally recognised by Julius Caesar who led an expedition into Gaul. It says a lot about both the tenacity of the Romans and the weakened state of the Outriders after their excesses that the Romans were able to defeat them and establish their empire across Europe with the boundaries we know so well."

Horace paused for a sip of mead from the goblet in front of him. Tom was staring at him with focussed eyes, his mouth set in a grim line taking in every word Horace spoke with intense concentration.

"Then Caesar was murdered by those who knew no better. But salvation was at hand, for Octavian assumed the Roman throne. Recognising the dangers his adopted father had faced, Augustus established himself as the Roman Emperor and consolidated the Empire. He arranged the legions such that they would easily be able to rally to each other's aid in the case of an Outrider attack. The legions were most heavily stationed in Illyria, or modern Germany.

"But the Outriders were patient and they lay low. They had learned from the defeats they had suffered at the hand of the Romans. They managed to travel across the Roman Empire undetected and established a foothold in Persia. Emperor Trajan got wind of that and led his legions into a conquest of Mesopotamia. Once their task was over, the next Emperor, Hadrian, recalled the troops to the lines they had formed before Trajan led them eastwards.

"The Roman Empire was able to rally against the Outriders one last time after that. Under Emperor Diocletian, the Roman Army again managed to comprehensively defeat the Outriders. But it was not to happen again. The Outriders changed tactics. They began undermining Rome from within.

"Constantine split the Empire. And very soon, the Western Roman Empire was in shambles. The Eastern Roman Empire persevered, but not for long. Its influence declined over the years until it too remained a shadow of its former glory hiding behind the legendary walls of Constantinople.

"Little is known of the Outriders from then on till the 12th century. It is known that they grew in power and influence until they felt strong enough to launch an attack on humanity again. This time, the war took the form of the Crusades. The Christian kingdoms waged a crusade against them and the Muslims a Jihad. Not just against them, but against each other too. It was a repeat of the three way war between the Atlanteans, Romans and Carthage with different players.

"Humanity gained a foothold against them during the Third Crusade, when a Muslim leader and a Christian king got together to combat the Outriders. Richard the Lionhearted and Saladin of Egypt. Richard had a supremely disciplined army of Druids and Magi, while Saladin had specially trained troops, his Mamelukes. They fought the Outriders and cornered them in Jerusalem. In front of the Dome of the Rock, the forces of Richard and Saladin made their final, concerted effort to defeat the Sixteen.

"Fourteen of them perished that day. They were banished back to hell for the first time since their summoning to our realm. They were bound in diamonds, and then the diamonds were crushed with magic to force them back to the Hell they had come from.

"The two who escaped were Mephisto and Vidomina. Vidomina is lost to the ages now. There have been no sightings of her till today. But Mephisto's influence has been seen in many events. The rise of the slave trade in Africa, the inquisition, the shooting of the Archduke Ferdinand, the rise of the Nazis and Grindelwald and numerous other things. The most important of these was the rise of Napoleon. It is said that Napoleon was able to bend the powers of Mephisto in the directions he wanted. Until Mephisto found a way to flee Napoleon, that is, in St. Petersburg, Napoleon was unstoppable."

Horace stopped here, looking at Tom. Tom seemed deeply in thought, seemingly pondering on the history he had just heard.

"I'm guessing," said Horace finally, "That this is much more than the small explanation you were expecting. Do not think much upon it, Tom," he continued kindly. "You will not be the one who will finally banish Mephisto and Vidomina. It will take another army to do that, my boy."

Tom looked up at Horace, and Horace was startled at the naked desire he could see within the boy's eyes. "Don't worry, professor," he replied. "I won't do anything stupid. You know me."

Horace chuckled, his worries instantly evaporating. Tom was a good kid. No matter what Albus told him, he knew that Tom would never do anything as crazy as fighting Mephisto. It would take an insane wizard to even think of such a thing, after all.

"Why is this story not more famous, professor?" asked Tom.

"It was feared, and rightly so, that anyone who heard this would immediately rush to try and find Mephisto. It was agreed in the council of wizards convened after the Crusades that this story would only be told to those who needed to know. Of course," Slughorn curled his moustache pompously, "There are people who have other ways of finding out as well." He beamed at Tom. "Now, why don't you go back to bed, dear boy? It is very late after all."

Tom nodded. "I will, sir." He got up from his chair. "Thank you for clearing my doubts. Good night!"

"Good night, Tom," replied Horace heartily.

And as the door closed behind Tom, Slughorn tried to banish the small pit of unease that had settled within his stomach. Despite all he thought about Tom, despite all the confidence he had in him, somehow, a sliver of fear wormed its way into his psyche.

* * *

Elijah stared nervously at the young boy in front of him. The fact that the boy looked just about as nervous as he felt did nothing to soothe his nerves.

_Oh kay, deep breaths,_ thought Elijah. _You can do it._ He took a deep breath and managed a nervous smile.

"Hey, kid," began Elijah, "I'm Master Elijah Goldstein from The Istanbul School of Magic."

"Magic?" the boy's face screwed up into what might have passed off as a thoughtful expression on someone older. On him it just looked like a bad case of constipation. Elijah struggled to hold in his laughter, his nervousness lightening.

"Yeah, magic," replied Elijah, his smile a touch more genuine. "I come from a school of magicians."

The boy's eyes widened as he looked Elijah over again. Elijah was struck by their vibrant green colour. He'd never seen such eyes. They almost thrummed with power.

"So people can make a living out of pulling rabbits from hats?" said the boy, wonder in his voice. Elijah's palm began the short journey towards his forehead. "Wow." Elijah's palm struck his face with a resounding smack.

The boy stared at him.

"Not that magic, kid," said Elijah, impatience gnawing at him. "Real magic."

"But magic doesn't exist," countered the boy. "My teacher told me that magic is like dreaming. It's a fiment of image." He stumbled over the last few words.

"A figment of imagination," corrected Elijah, "and no, your class teacher was wrong. Magic is real. Certainly not a figment of your imagination."

"It has to be. I've never read about magic in the newspapers or any books," countered the boy. Elijah's eyebrows went up. A boy who read books and newspapers at this age? That was rare.

"Magic is unknown to the non-magical population," explained Elijah.

"So you're telling me that magic is something no one knows of, except a few people, and that these people have no wish to tell others that it really exists?"

"Yes."

"But that's absurd." _What a vocabulary for a seven year old, _thought Elijah. "How can you hide magic for so long? Won't people find out?"

"It's magic, kid," retorted Elijah sharply. "We can make those who find out forget all about it."

"So people who allow normal people to find out simply wipe their memories?"

"No, there are special people in the magical government who do that."

"So there's a magical government as well?"

"Yes," Elijah ground his teeth in frustration.

"And you expect me to believe your word against Miss Paulson's?"

Elijah sighed. "Why do you think your class teacher is right and I'm not?"

"Because Uncle Vernon said the same thing as she did." Elijah could feel a headache forming. And they hadn't even started the ministry procedures yet.

"Well," said Elijah, impatience breaking through his voice, "then your Uncle Vernon was wrong too."

At this, the boy's eyes widened and he looked around furtively, as if trying surreptitiously to look for threats. Elijah's curiosity was aroused. That wasn't typical child behaviour.

The boy focussed his attention on Elijah again. "You're wrong. Uncle Vernon is always right."

Elijah narrowed his eyes. There was something wrong in that statement. Something off character. As soon as 'Uncle Vernon' was mentioned, the boy became frightened. Why? He had a slight suspicion as to what that was, but a day's worth of observation and his class teacher's notes could only go so far.

Elijah shifted his concentration to the boy's eyes, and brought his power to bear. His legilimancy was barely sufficient to get past even weak shields, but this boy was raw and his mind unprotected. Elijah didn't want to penetrate very far either, he just had to skim the surface thoughts of the boy.

_There's no such thing as magic! _A rough voice boomed in his ears, and he felt the ghost of a powerful slap on his face. Elijah blinked his eyes, and snapped out of it to see the boy staring at him with the same expression. Nary a second had gone by.

"Your uncle hits you, Harry?" asked Elijah softly.

The boy shook his head, but Elijah could see the truth in his eyes. He had no need for legilimancy to know the boy was lying.

"If you come with me," said Elijah gently, "you'll never have to see your uncle in your whole life. What do you think of that?"

The boy's eyes widened imperceptibly. "Really?" he asked, a plaintive tone in his voice.

Elijah nodded, smiling, his previous irritation being replaced with pity. No one had the right to do what this Vernon had done to Harry. Elijah knew that Harry would come with him to Istanbul now, the boy's countenance practically screamed that out.

"But if magic is real," asked the boy, "what all can you do with it?"

"Many things," replied Elijah. "Magic has many branches. The first is wand magic, which was considered the most powerful branch once upon a time. It's very versatile, and you can do almost everything with it. You can conjure objects out of thin air, destroy boulders with a flick, cause someone to laugh till they cry and many other things. The possibilities of wand magic are almost endless.

"But wand magic is not the only way to practise the art of magic. There are other branches, like weapon-craft, necromancy, alchemy, body magic, blood magic, elementalism, wandless casting, staff magic, alternate foci, and many more. They're not as versatile as wand magic. But within their own limits, they are the most efficient way to wield your magic. You'll learn more about these kinds of magic when you go to school, okay?"

The boy nodded, before his brow furrowed.

"What?" asked Elijah, not unkindly.

"Can you show me some?" whispered the boy hesitantly.

Elijah laughed, before waving his hand in the air, making a dull red stone appear out of thin air. The boy's expression transformed into one of wonder as the stone floated gently down towards him.

"Will I be able to do that?"

"Sure you will," replied Elijah. "Why do you think you won't?"

"Uncle Vernon told me that I'm a good for nothing idiot who will never amount to anything," came the quiet reply.

Elijah had to stop himself from apparating all the way to Privet Drive and knocking Vernon around till he begged for mercy. Instead, he turned to the boy and smiled. "Well, he also told you that magic is not real. Look how that turned out."

* * *

"Wow," said Harry as they looked around.

Elijah smiled. "Impressive, isn't it?" he asked. "First time visitors to the English Ministry of Magic are generally very impressed with the atrium." He began walking towards the security check, Harry trailing behind him, looking around in wonder. Not that Elijah could blame him. The British Ministry was truly massive. The atrium alone could hold thousands of people. Hundreds of floo powder equipped fireplaces flared green on two sides as people span to a halt, and hundreds flamed up as people disappeared to their homes. Fireplaces were the traditional mode of transfer in England, and they made for spectacular displays of magic and colour. Apparition was strictly forbidden in the ministry, for one could easily apparate onto someone or something valuable.

Lifts lined the third side, and people came in by the hundreds from there as well. The most-used lift was the visitor's entrance, from which Elijah had brought Harry. The other lifts were spatially displaced. While they appeared to go straight down, the lifts actually began in distant places, like Manchester or Leeds and carried magical folk directly to the ministry in a matter of seconds. It was the preferred mode of long distance travel these days, as floo travel generally tended to make wizards sick.

In the centre of the statue was the fountain of Magical Brethren, a symbol of a bygone era, or so Elijah believed. A witch and a wizard stood tall and proud in the middle, both holding wands as the other magical races looked up at them with an expression of awe and servility. The boy tugged on Elijah's shirt.

"What?" asked the fencing master.

"What are those other creatures standing with the people in the middle of the room?"

Elijah frowned. While the boy did not know better, he had to understand that calling sentinent magical creatures animals would lead to a fight out in the real world.

"Well," began Elijah slowly, "There's a centaur, a goblin and a house elf in that statue." He pointed each of them out to Harry. "Don't think of humans as people and the other races as something inferior, understand? Everyone is equal in God's eyes."

Harry nodded and kept looking around him. Elijah sighed. Goodness knows how much had actually penetrated into the boy's skull. Well, no matter. The school would make him a fine, upstanding member of society.

They reached the security desk.

"Please stand on that square, sir," said a guard, pointing toward a small square marked out on the floor. Elijah duly obliged and the guard began scanning him with a dark magic detector.

Once the guard was satisfied he was clean, he gestured both of them through.

"Why did the guard not check me?" asked Harry as he hurried to catch up with Elijah's longer strides.

"You're too young," explained Elijah. "Dark magic is not generally found on a child, and the square you were told to stand on was probably another detector. Every adult who's ever worked with dark magic will have some traces on him. I have, and that registered. However, seeing that almost every wizard has worked with dark magic at some time or the other, it's no big deal. You, on the other hand, have never done magic. There were probably no magical traces on you."

They reached the lift on the other side. Elijah stepped into it and hit the button for the third floor.

"What's on the third floor?"

Elijah sighed. He'd forgotten just how excitable and curious young children could be. "The Visa office."

"Why do we have to go there? Can't you just use magic to transport me to Turkey?" pressed the boy.

"I could," agreed Elijah, "but that would lead to you dying." The lift stopped with a 'ding' and two middle-aged balding men entered the lift. "You see, every country has a system of wards encircling it. Wards are like protective spells stretching over an area. In this case, they cover the entire country. These wards have many functions. They keep non-magical people oblivious to magical activity, power the floo network, prevent magical attacks on the country from outside, etc. They're really powerful.

"But from where does that power come? It comes from every magical being in the country. Every magical being which has the ability to use magic consciously is tied to the wards automatically at birth, and the wards drain a miniscule amount of power from you when you're in the country. When you leave the country, that is when you go outside the range of the wards, they begin draining a lot more power from you than they would have had you been inside them. The further you go, the greater the drain on your power. You get far enough, you die."

Harry looked horrified. "But why would anyone do that?" he asked, shocked. The two men glanced at the pair, but didn't say anything as the lift stopped at the sixth floor.

"From what I know, it is a side effect of the design of the wards," explained Elijah patiently. "Seeing that these wards were made in the middle ages, when the number of wizards was much lower than it is today, I bet this design helped kings control wizards and keep them within their own borders."

"Wow," muttered the boy quietly. "That sounds cruel." Raising his voice slightly, he asked, "But then why not remove them now? There are more wizards now, right?"

"Yes," said Elijah, pausing as the lift stopped on the third floor and the doors opened. "But these wards are now used for national security and the maintenance of the national infrastructure. This design is time-tested and very solid, so it makes little sense to change it now."

"So what does the ministry have to do with these wards?"

"The ministry controls them. Every time someone has to leave the country, they come here to get decoupled from the wards."

"What about those who leave the country regularly?"

"They're permanently decoupled. The loss of one or two power sources barely affects the wards anyway."

The boy nodded, his questions abating for the moment as he looked around the ornate room he was in. A thick carpet covered the floor and comfortable looking couches lined the walls. Elijah marched straight up to the receptionist.

"I have an appointment for a decoupling," he said, pointing towards Harry as she looked up at him.

She leafed through some papers on her desk before nodding at him. "An appointment for Mr Elijah Goldstein and Mr Harry Potter, is it not?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why is a Potter going abroad with someone not of his own family?" asked the receptionist, her eyes looking at him speculatively.

The question barely fazed Elijah, he had come prepared. "He's not a relation to James Potter," he replied promptly, as if he had been answering this question for a very long time. "He's an orphan whose potential was recently alerted to us by a concerned member of the British magical community."

The receptionist didn't seem convinced. "Then why not have him try out for Hogwarts?"

Elijah lowered his head and beckoned for her to come forward. She leaned towards him. "The person who asked us to take care of Mr Potter here doesn't exactly like Dumbledore. He's convinced that Dumbledore will ruin British society as we know it. He reckons that Dumbledore was behind the breakup of the British Empire after the Second World War."

Understanding flooded the receptionist's eyes. "Ah," she said, leaning back into her chair and giving Harry a quick glance. The kid was staring at an animated portrait of a man eating fruit and holding a cat.

She picked up a handset from her desk and spoke quietly into it. She nodded at the response, and put the device down. "Go on in," she smiled at Elijah. "Mr Brown will see you both now."

"Come on, kid," said Elijah as he walked towards Mr Brown's office. "This is a lengthy procedure, so we'd better get started as soon as possible."

* * *

"That was it?" complained Harry. "I thought it would be something exciting!"

"What, you expected him to take out a knife and slash your arm to collect blood, or something?" asked Elijah grumpily. It was a long, boring procedure, and he'd had to sit for ninety minutes staring at a fat man waving his wand over an excitable seven year old kid. The kid's yipping had got so loud that Mr Brown had silenced him after a while. Elijah had silently thanked him for that and had received a discrete nod in return.

"Well…" the kid seemed to have trouble finding the words to express himself. "Wand magic is boring!"

Elijah stifled a snort. "It kept the British Empire at the top of the world for a very long time, mind you."

"Really?" asked the boy.

"Yes," replied Elijah, sighing. Him and his bloody mouth. If he hadn't said anything to Durga at that time, everything would have been dandy. But no. He was just stupid enough to pick the most annoying cause he could. A little kid who hadn't heard about curiosity and the cat.

The kid didn't even notice as Elijah jabbed him in the neck gently, silencing him. The walk back to the lift was more peaceful than any other moment Elijah had had since meeting this kid.

"Why this lift?" asked the kid immediately as they got into a lift different from the one they had come from.

Elijah groaned. There went his peace and quiet. "We have to pick some stuff up from the market and our flying carpet is also parked in the same place."

"We're going by carpet? Like Aladdin?"

"Yes. And don't you ever shut up?"

"I do!"

"When?"

"When I go to bed."

Elijah's hand met his forehead for the second time that day.

"So are we going by magical carpet all the way to Istanbul?" pressed the boy.

"Yes, we are!" replied Elijah, his nerves starting to fray. Seriously, what had he done to get saddled with the most talkative and hyperactive child in the country?

"Wow," said the boy. "A real magic carpet. Dudley would be so jealous."

Elijah closed his eyes. It would take them a second to reach Diagon Alley. Precisely a second later, the lift dinged and stopped at their destination. The pair got out from the crowded lift with everyone else, permitting another crowd to get in. The lift led straight to Gringotts, the biggest magical bank in England.

"Is that a goblin?" asked Harry, pointing at a goblin guard.

"Yes," replied Elijah, walking towards a free counter. "I need to get these lira exchanged to galleons," he addressed the teller, giving him his passport and the money.

The goblin took the money from him, counted it out, checked his passport and handed him the requisite number of galleons and a receipt before waving him away.

"That was fast," said Harry as they walked towards the exit.

"They're goblins," replied Elijah. "Money and thrift runs in their blood. Whenever they do anything, they adhere to the principle that time is money. Hence their operations are generally very efficient."

"Okay," said the boy. "And what money is that?"

"Magical currency. England is the only nation in the world with different magical and normal currency. I heard there's a bill being reviewed by the Wizengamot to discard magical currency and convert entirely to pounds, but that's a while away."

They walked into a potioneer's store, the boy too busy taking in the alley to chatter. Elijah welcomed the lack of talk.

"How may I help you, young sir?" asked the shopkeeper with a smile.

"I need some nutrient potions and some potions for reversing malnutrition."

The shopkeeper frowned. "Do you have a prescription?"

Elijah dug into his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. "I don't have a prescription, but I know that these will be the potions that will be needed."

The shopkeeper shook his head. "I can't give you malnutrition potions off the counter. You need to get a prescription form a qualified healer before I can hand you one of those."

Elijah sighed. "Where is the closest clinic?" he asked.

"It's just down the road, young sir," he replied. "Mind you, though, the prices are slightly high compared to what you may find in stores tucked into smaller alleys."

"Thank you," replied Elijah, quickly walking out of the store and towards the clinic. It might be expensive, but they didn't really have much time. Their flying carpet left in a couple of hours. Harry fell into step behind Elijah, still in wonder of the alley.

They walked into the clinic, where a nurse told them to be seated. A young healer came out and gently took Harry into the examination room. Five minutes later, the man came out to talk to Elijah.

"Are you his guardian?" asked the healer.

"No," replied Elijah. "He's been staying with his relatives for the past six months. I've just met him today."

"Well, you were right to get him checked by a medic," replied the healer grimly. "My spells tell me that his bones are weak and he's been hit many times in the recent past. His body bears the stress of someone doing heavy work while being constantly dehydrated. His muscles are weak, and his eyesight hasn't developed properly. I'd like to have him here for at least a week."

Elijah shook his head. "Our carpet leaves in an hour and forty five minutes," he replied quietly.

The healer sighed. "I hate to leave a patient so obviously in need of help. Are you sure you can't delay your departure?"

"I can't," replied Elijah with a smile. He liked this healer. He really was dedicated to his profession.

The healer nodded. "Very well, then. I can recommend potions for most of his problems. He should be able to make a full recovery in around a year, if kept on a strict regimen of potions. However, do take him to a healer for his eyes. The damage is reversible, and it would be a pity if it were not fixed."

"Understood," replied Elijah. The door opened, and Harry stepped out with a nurse holding his hands. He was chatting animatedly with her, and she was smiling adoringly down at him.

The healer continued speaking with a lower tone, "Make sure those relatives of his don't meet him again."

Elijah nodded, as the healer gave him a prescription.

"A galleon and thirteen sickles, please," said the healer. "You can pay at the counter over there."

Elijah raised his eyebrows at the price. The potioneer wasn't kidding when he said that the price would be high. Elijah walked up to the counter and paid the bill.

"Say goodbye to the healer, Harry," said Elijah. "We're leaving."

Harry waved to the healer and nurse as he ran to catch up to Elijah, who was halfway out of the clinic.

"Where now?" asked the boy.

"The potioneer's," replied Elijah. "Now shut up so I can hear myself think."

The potioneer happily gave him the potions prescribed, telling him to "keep them in the sun for one hour everyday else they'll lose their potential. But not more, else they'll evaporate." Elijah duly noted it down, before beginning a brisk trot towards the airfield.

"Where are we going now?" asked the boy.

"Istanbul, dear boy!" said Elijah, grinning. "We're going home!"


	3. The Incident in the Bazaar

**Chapter 2**

"Well, do you understand where you went wrong, boys?" asked Durga sternly. Elijah watched as both boys nodded at her, abashed. "Fighting is not permitted in this school, especially not under my watch," she continued.

"And neither mine," growled another voice. Elijah glanced at the man sitting next to Durga. Mujahed Hussaini was their instructor for Arabic and Persian. "And what have I taught you about manners, ruffians? You don't just nod in front of the headmistress when she's saying something important to you. Acknowledge what she said verbally!"

"Yes, sir," murmured both boys submissively and turned to Durga. But Elijah caught Harry shoot Mujahed a look of irritation before doing so.

"I'm sorry, Headmistress Durga, for my mistake," said Harry in Arabic, surprising Elijah. And judging from the expression on Durga's face, she was just as surprised as he was.

"As am I", said Rashid, the second boy.

Durga stared at them for a while before dismissing them. Master Hussaini relaxed his scowl and Elijah took a chair.

Elijah waited before the door was closed before turning to Mujahed, "Harry picks up languages fast, does he?"

Mujahed smiled. "Yes, Master Goldstein, he does," he replied. "Mister LaForge is adept at picking up languages and I have a feeling he has the potential to become a rune master."

Durga raised her eyebrows. "Isn't it a bit too soon to be thinking along those lines? Maybe he has no interest in them."

Mujahed shook his head. "I can assure you he does. He came to me asking about learning other languages like Hindi and Mandarin. While I don't know them myself, I'm sure Professor Nagashima will consent to teach him both."

"I can teach him Hindi if he so desires," replied Durga dismissively. "That's no problem. But wow." She let out a breath. "To think of having a potential rune master with us. That's a rush."

Elijah couldn't help but agree. Harry, no matter what he wanted, was absolutely terrible at fencing. Or anything physical, for that matter. He would absolutely hate working on those parts of magic which would involve physical work. Working with runes seemed perfect for someone like him.

Mujahed suddenly chuckled.

"What?" asked Elijah.

The broad-shouldered Arabic teacher grinned at him. "Those two are going to become good friends," he said by way of explanation.

Elijah grinned. He had been thinking along similar lines.

"Not going to happen," replied Durga. "They're fighting like cats and dogs. You've brought them to my office what, eight times in the last two months?"

"Exactly," replied Mujahed. "That's the reason it's going to turn out so well."

Durga furrowed her brows. "That makes no sense at all," she proclaimed.

The two males in the room exchanged glances. Elijah shifted in his seat.

"Well," he began, "thing is, Durga, this is how boys begin friendships."

Durga stared back at him incredulously. "By beating each other up? Do you honestly expect me to buy that? I've lived a hundred and forty years! I know what boys are like!"

"But you've never grown up a boy, nor have you ever known any while growing up," replied Mujahed. "You're from a conservative Hindu family, how would you know?"

"So they're going to be best friends by tomorrow?"

"Maybe not tomorrow," replied Elijah, "but give it some time. Maybe another month or so."

Durga gaped at him like a fish.

Mujahed glanced at the wall clock. "Well, it's getting late and I have to grade some assignments. By your leave, Headmistress, Master Goldstein?"

"Of course, Professor Hussaini," replied Durga, her eyes still wide and mouth slightly open. It made her look cute.

Elijah was immediately bothered by that thought. How could his thoughts go in that direction? She was almost a century older than him. More than a century, actually. He couldn't actually be feeling attracted to a lady that old, could he? As he watched her throat bob when she swallowed, he understood that he couldn't honestly answer that question with a definitive no.

Durga was unaware of these thoughts of his, however, as she turned pensive. Neither of them spoke for a while as she stared into the distance and he stared at her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" asked Elijah when it became clear she wasn't going to say anything.

"I don't like this, Elijah," she answered, her brow slightly furrowed.

Elijah raised his eyebrows and smiled wryly when no more information was forthcoming. "You'll find," he said dryly, "that you'll have to be more specific than that if you want me to help."

Durga rolled her eyes and sighed. "How long will we keep his heritage from him? He really has no clue that he's related to the Potters, does he?"

Elijah's mood sobered in an instant. "We can't tell him, Durga," he replied. "He totally bought it when I told him changing his name would lead to a new beginning for him. And he took it well. He wasn't attached to the name Potter. I daresay he was glad to be rid of it. As I told you, it was used to ridicule and insult him in his house."

Durga's eyes flared dangerously. "Those muggles had better never cross my path," she murmured.

"I know how you feel, but don't digress," Elijah chastened her gently. "He likes this name."

"And you're hiding something from me, Elijah," said Durga. "You know you're as easy to read as an open book for me, right?"

Elijah cursed her beauty for the second time that day. Not only was she the hottest woman he knew, but she always mothered him. What kind of a sick man lusted after his mother figure?

"I'm waiting, Elijah," said Durga when he remained silent. She crossed her legs and began tapping a foot impatiently.

Goddammit.

"I'm easy as a book for you to read, right?" asked Elijah.

"It's a figure of speech, moron," replied Durga, rolling her eyes. "But get to the point."

Elijah let the jab slide. "What about Harry?"

Durga's eyebrows rose as she considered his question. After a moment of thought, she replied, "He's not. Which makes sense, mind you, seeing that I've hardly spent any time with him since he was enrolled here. I entrusted you with his well-being and from all accounts, you're doing quite splendidly."

"Well," said Elijah tiredly, "He is to me. He comes to me every other day and tells me about school and his friends and the difficulties he has in finishing his homework at times. But even now, I can see one aspect of his behaviour which makes me reluctant to tell him the truth about his family. He's very self-absorbed, independent and proud. In fact, arrogant would be a good way of putting it."

"How can that be?" exclaimed Durga. "He was pretty timid when I met him!"

"Abuse," fired back Elijah. "Abused kids are often like that. Their true natures get suppressed. But I have to commend Harry for his resilience. He must have been privy to horrors we're hardly experienced in. We've both had normal childhoods. As normal as our times permitted, at least," he added, seeing that she was about too interrupt with a smug look.

"It took a remarkably short period of time for him to normalize," he continued. "Adding the accolades and praises heaped upon him by his teachers, it's not very surprising to see him develop this way.

"It's the extent to which his self-absorbed nature goes which is slightly worrying. It's almost cut him off from his peers. They see him as a prodigy. Someone who does things without trying."

"But he's not, is he?" interrupted Durga.

Elijah shrugged. "I wouldn't be too surprised if he does turn out to truly be one. Intellectually, he is easily among the best of his batch."

"Really?"

"Yes. Madam Khurshid, our librarian, has been telling me about his interest in mind magics."

Durga's eyebrows rose for the second time that day, but this time, her expression was that of alarm.

"He hasn't been practicing it, has he?" she asked.

"No," said Elijah. She slumped down in her chair, relieved. He could understand her relief. Mental magic required intense focus and a very controlled environment to be learned. Many a careless mage had been driven to insanity by small mistakes in harnessing the power of their mind. I would be a pity if the same were to happen to Harry Potter. "But," he continued, "I can already tell that he's going to be a very very good mind mage. He has that... thing about him. I can't explain it," he finished, slightly frustrated.

"It's okay, I understand you," replied Durga absently, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Elijah softly.

"Mmm...? Oh, nothing. But it still doesn't answer the question of why you don't want him to know about his heritage."

Elijah sighed. "He's not going to take it well. The rate he's going, I think it will be better if we don't tell him at all, and then pretend ignorance if he ever does find out." Elijah shuddered. "Once that mage is trained, I wouldn't want to be at the receiving end of his magic."

"Are you sure about this?"

Elijah pinned her with the intensity of his gaze. "He is the vindictive kind, Durga. If he realises that he was abandoned by his family to live with those pigs, he wouldn't stop until he makes every last member of his family pay."

"How do you know that?"

Elijah gave her a look which said, 'you're not seriously asking me that, are you?'

"You really think he'll be that good, do you?" asked Durga hastily. "I mean, James Potter is hardly a pushover. And his brother is said to be the one who will defeat Lord Voldemort."

"I stand by my word, Durga. It's not about magical power in this case. Not at all. Not that he lacks that," he amended absently, "it's just not going to be much of a factor in his case. He's a classic case of mind over matter. His intelligence is the most valuable thing to him."

Realization dawned on Durga's face. "And that is why he's reading up on mind magic!" she exclaimed. "The thought of his ultimate sanctuary, his mind, being violated is his deepest fear!"

Elijah smiled. She'd come to the same conclusion as he had. "Exactly," he replied. "That is my conclusion too."

"And his swordplay is absolutely abysmal?"

Elijah grimaced. "He's certainly not in the top ten of the class," he replied, "and from what I've seen, he doesn't have nearly the same knack for it that he does for languages or runes."

"Well," said Durga, "that's a relief. An absolute prodigy is every educator's nightmare."

"Really?"

"Yes, moron. The other children in class get an inferiority complex and class dynamics become impossible to handle."

"Was I a prodigy, Durga?"

Durga glanced up at him. "You are a Jew. You studied in a class full of Sunni Muslims. Class dynamics were screwed up because of that, you hear?"

Elijah almost pouted. No fair. He'd wanted to be labeled a prodigy. Oh, well, a teacher's greatest desire was to see his pupil succeed, right? If not him, it would be great to see his pupil carry his name forward!

"And Elijah," said Durga seriously, causing Elijah to shift his focus to her. "Make sure you keep an eye out on him and his mind magics. I don't want a rogue mind mage running around this school, clear?"

"Aye aye, Cap'n!" replied Elijah, a boyish grin on his face. "Clear as crystal!"

* * *

"We're not supposed to be out here, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. Rashid could be such a pussy at times. "No one's going to know, Rashid," he replied, irritation creeping into his voice.

Rashid huffed. "It's against the rules to be out in the city on a working day."

"You didn't see the guard complain."

"You gave him a pack of hand rolled cuban cigars! Of course he'd have no problem!"

A sly smile made its way on Harry's face. "You have to admit, that was good," he said smugly, watching as Rashid struggled to refute him. Finally he conceded the point.

"Where did you get those cigars anyway? They're not cheap," asked Rashid.

Harry waved his hands impatiently. "That's not important," he replied dismissively.

"Did you steal them, Harry?" Rashid had come to a stop in the busy marketplace. It was odd to see a stationary person in the otherwise busy area that was the magical district of the Grand Bazaar.

"Not all of us are born in privilege, Rashid," replied Harry shortly.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a no, but you'll have to wait to find out how I got them," replied Harry firmly, closing the topic once and for all.

But Rashid wasn't exactly cooperative. "No," he said stubbornly. "Tell me from where you got those cigars else I'll tell Master Elijah you're a thief."

Harry's eyes widened as he heard that. The little snitch! "Well, even if you did tell him I'm a thief, it would be a lie," he replied haughtily, almost regretting his decision to bring Rashid along. "And I'm not going to waste my time arguing about petty things," he continued, turning to walk towards his destination. "We don't have much time anyway."

He didn't have to wait long to hear Rashid's strides as the other boy fell in step with him. "But promise me," came Rashid's voice, low and intense. "Promise me that you didn't steal those cigars. Or anything else, for that matter. Promise me."

Harry turned to look at his friend, surprised by the intensity in his voice. Rashid really did feel very strongly about this. "Very well," replied Harry. "I did not pick anyone's pocket or take anything from them without their knowledge and approval."

Rashid smiled. "Thank Allah," he said. "But why do you have to make simple things so complicated? You could just have said 'I didn't steal anything from anyone', right?"

"That's no fun," replied Harry playfully. He felt very smug at his deception. Rashid had meant snatching or traditional stealing. He certainly hadn't been thinking of gambling, after all. Or overcharging. Or something similar.

"So where are we going?" asked Rashid.

"There's this shop I was told about by a senior," replied Harry. "I wanted some books about mind magic which our library doesn't have."

"You be careful with mind magic, Harry," replied Rashid. "It's supposed to be done in a place with adults looking at your every move."

Harry scoffed. "Oh please," he replied condescendingly. "I've been managing without any adult to help me for so long. Why would I knowingly ask one to help me out?"

"You talk to Master Goldstein and ask him for help," said Rashid.

"Well, that's a different matter," replied Harry. "And be quiet, we've reached our destination. Let me do the talking."

They entered a small shop. The bell rang as they entered. Harry had been told about this place, but even he hadn't prepared to be as underwhelmed as he was. There were carpets and old-style fans all around. Old vases and books littered the spindly tables with a healthy sprinkling of cobwebs around them. The place smelled like something had died there recently. Harry wrinkled his nose. He's smelled much worse in Dudley's bedroom. He silently walked up to a counter where a hunchbacked man was staring at him with unblinking eyes. Rashid followed him hesitantly.

"I need some books," said Harry. The old hunchback stared at him before jerking his head in the direction they were meant to go. With a wordless nod of thanks, Harry went in the specified direction.

"Harry," whispered Rashid, "Just what kind of books do you want? This place looks seedy."

"Relax, Rashid," replied Harry confidently, though even he was a bit nervous inside. "I've done this before, remember?"

"With whom?"

"A senior. Farooq."

They entered a small room. It was richly decorated, in contrast to the dirty atrium. Tapestries lined the walls and elegant carpets covered the floor. Comfortable divans were scattered artfully through the room, though only one of them was occupied.

A fat man smoking a hookah beckoned Harry forward.

"LaForge!" he boomed in Persian. "You've come with a different man this time, hmm? Though it doesn't seem he and I have been introduced!"

Harry shook off the feeling of awe the room had caused to manifest in him and bowed to the merchant.

"Motamid of the Moors, it is an honor to meet you again," replied Harry smoothly, nudging Rashid with an elbow. Rashid grumbled, but bowed nonetheless. "This is my friend, Rashid."

"Oh! A friend, he says! That is wonderful news!" exclaimed Motamid with a hearty chuckle. "I never thought you capable of making any, you always seem so cold."

A pit of irritation formed itself within Harry. Why did merchants never take him seriously?

_You're eight, _a voice snarked back at him from within his head. _You need a few years before you'll even remotely worth his attention. Right now he's just humouring you. Get what you need and get out._

"I need," began Harry, "The Art of the Mind. I don't suppose you have it on you?"

"That depends, little man," responded Motamid, chuckling. "Can you win me a bet?"

He felt Rashid stiffen beside him. "_Not now," _whispered Harry in English, before seamlessly switching back to Persian and answering the man, "Poker again?"

The man nodded.

Harry sighed. "You know I prefer chess," he complained.

The merchant laughed. "I know that, little man!" he boomed, "But my patrons insisted when I told them you could clean them out in poker as well. I'll give you our usual deal."

"No," replied Harry. "Our usual deal is when you give me advance warning. The usual plus twenty percent, and I don't pay for the book."

The merchant immediately objected. "That's hardly fair to me, Harry! The usual plus five and you pay for the book."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please," he said contemptuously. "What do you take me for, a fool? At least fifteen, else I don't pay."

"Nine with the book!"

"Fourteen without!"

"Twelve with the book, and that's final. Else you pay my usual price for the book and I overcharge you for the rest of your life."

Harry leveled the merchant with a cold glare. "You do that," he said, his voice sickeningly sweet, "and I stop coming here for your betting sessions."

"Now, now," said the merchant hastily, sugar dripping from every syllable, "There's no need for that, you know! I can easily give you the twelve percent plus the book, there's no trouble at all! You can take the book after you finish the game, how's that?"

Harry nodded imperiously, feeling rather pleased with himself. There weren't many eight year olds who could say they'd outwitted a carpet merchant from Egypt!

Rashid chose that moment to speak up. "Harry," he said in English, "what is going on?"

Harry turned to look at Rashid, his friend staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. Harry shook his head, there were more important things to do.

"This is my source of income, okay?" replied Harry. "You can't tell anyone. I brought you here because I trust you. If you break my trust, you'll regret it, you know that."

"Oh please," replied Rashid, "My father can easily beat whoever you send after me. But," he added hastily, raising his hands in surrender, "I won't tell on you. You're going to play poker, right? Can I come and watch?"

Harry found Rashid's sudden shift from naivete to curious and eager rather strange. But then again, he figured Rashid hadn't ever seen anyone play poker before. It wasn't a very common game in Magical Turkey.

"Suit yourself," replied Harry with a careless shrug. "But remember. Once you're near the table, the small pieces of magic keeping your clothes so prim and proper will fail. Every bit of magic will."

Rashid shook his head bemusedly. "I'll manage," he replied dryly. Harry smirked and turned to go to the table.

* * *

"How did you do that?" asked Rashid, stunned. "How did you manage to so utterly outclass them?"

Harry grinned. Not only had he got the book for free, he'd also managed to win himself a sizable sum and a few books on yoga. Handwritten by some Indian _sanyasi _in Sanskrit_, _apparently.

"What can I say?" he preened. "I'm just that good." Seeing Rashid's awestruck expression made him want to preen just a bit more. "What did you think, I cheated? I'm just naturally that good, mate. They never had a chance."

Rashid just gaped at him in wonder before shaking his head and looking straight ahead. "Wow," he said quietly. "You should be a businessman. You've got that way with words, expressions and everything. You can lie very convincingly too."

Harry laughed. "I'm too young to think about work, you know," he replied. "Though now that you mention it, maybe I will be good there."

"Maybe," Rashid laughed. "Now, I am hungry. There's a great place not far from here. They've got awesome kebabs. Why don't we go and eat something?"

"Do you think money grows on trees?" grumbled Harry. His orphan allowance wasn't much and he needed his money to bribe guards and purchase books.

"Oh, come on!" pleaded Rashid. "I'll pay!"

Free food. No, scratch that. Free _good _food! No way Harry was going to say no!

"Let's eat!" he exclaimed. "I'm starving! How far is this place again?"

"Just around the corner," replied Rashid. "What do you want to have?"

"I'm not sure, I haven't had a lot of kebab."

"Oh! Then you must try this place's _Tangri Kebab. _It's probably the best dish on the planet. They even have a variation on this called _Murgh Angar_. It's awesome!"

They sat on a table for two facing the street. Colourful street vendors advertised equally colourful wares in loud voices. Veiled women went everywhere, some on foot and some on palanquins. It was a sedate, happy lifestyle. Bargains were being struck everywhere, happy voices were crying out, and somewhere out there you could hear a man cursing another's mother for cheating him out of every last lira he owned.

Rashid gave their order to the waiter and they commenced waiting. Harry's stomach felt like a herd of bull elephants were playing a game of tag.

"Is it going to take much longer?" asked Harry impatiently. "I'm hungry."

Rashid shrugged. "I don't know," he replied. "I haven't been here much."

Harry rolled his eyes muttering, "Whatever." At least his money and books were safe and sound.

"Till when do we have to get back?" asked Rashid.

"We can go back whenever we want."

"Yes, but I'm sure not all guards are as amenable to bribes as that one was."

Harry laughed. "You're correct. It'll be great if we can get back in another four hours or so."

"Well," said Rashid, leaning back in his chair, "that's enough time for me to buy that shirt I liked before we leave."

"You take four hours to buy a shirt?" asked Harry incredulously.

"I always have them tailor it a but to make sure it fits perfectly," replied Rashid, his cheeks slightly red.

Harry stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "But why?" he asked. "That seems like a colossal waste of money!"

"Nah," replied Rashid. "It's not. It's one of the trappings of the rich."

"Tailored clothes?" asked Harry skeptically.

"Yes," replied Rashid. "Generally we don't buy anything off the shelf. We have it stitched. But there are times when you like some clothes so much they just have to be bought. So then you just buy them and get them altered by a tailor."

"So don't you have your own tailor for these sort of things? I mean, wouldn't that be easier?"

Rashid shrugged. "The tailors in these shops are good enough, I think," he replied.

Harry snorted in amusement. The Dursleys weren't very rich, then it seemed. Or maybe they did get their clothes stitched. That fat whale of a cousin sure couldn't fit into any normal clothes, right? Who knows? Maybe Uncle Vernon siphoned funds off his company. A vindictive expression crossed his face for an instant as he contemplated setting up a scenario in which Uncle Vernon would get caught for stealing money from his firm. Petunia would end up disgraced and they wouldn't be able to send Dudley to that Smeltings place they kept crowing about. All-in-all, it was perfect revenge.

The waiter put down two plates of _Tangri Kebab _in front of them into which they dug in with relish. Neither boy said much. Rashid was probably thinking about his shirt again, thought Harry, dismissing the matter.

But how would he do it? It wouldn't exactly be easy to go to England, set up everything and make it seems natural, right?

Well...

Mind magics were one route he could take. They required intense focus and a very detail-oriented state of mind. It would probably be the easiest way to implant suggestions and false memories in any person's mind. Also, muggles were supposed to be some of the easiest creatures to manipulate.

And then of course, he could do the same with wand magic. But there was great risk of being caught in England. They monitored such things there. Wandless magic was harder to monitor.

_Well, _a voice at the back of his head said ironically, _if nothing else, I can always just become a con man and con them out of whatever they own. _The thought brought a wry smile to his face. A con artist seemed the sort of profession he was well suited for.

"All done, Harry?" Rashid's voice jarred him out of his thoughts. Harry stared at the leg-bone in his hands. He'd almost nibbled the ends off.

"Yeah," he replied. "You've paid already?"

Rashid nodded. "You were lost in thought," he replied, by way of explanation. "I didn't want to disturb you. You're damn irritable when startled out of your thoughts for trivial things."

Harry couldn't help but laugh before he noticed the state of his hands.

"Ugh, I need to wash my hands," he said.

"There's a wash-basin there," said Rashid, pointing towards the back of the building.

Harry nipped inside, diligntly washed his hands and came out. Rashid was standing in front of the restaurant with an expectant look on his face.

Harry sighed. "The shirt?"

Rashid nodded eagerly.

"Lead the way," grumbled Harry. He swore. There were times Rashid almost acted like a girl.

Rashid led him on through a maze of streets to their destination, talking about something or the other. Harry pad him no mind, it wasn't important. His mind was still on his oh-so-sweet revenge against the Dursleys. _That _was important. Maybe he'd kill them?

Hmm... He wasn't sure. He'd read in books that a person is forever changed when he kills, and even Elijah had said the same thing to them in their first swordplay class.

"_The first time you kill will be a life changing experience," _he had said. The man's eyes had no enthusiasm or any levity in them. He was as serious as could be and this was what had led many in the class to sit up straighter, to lean forward slightly and focus all their attention to him. Harry had been no different.

"_The first kill is what really judges the character of a man," _Elijah had continued. _"Look at the way a man reacts to his first kill and you will understand what kind of person he is. Many people hide their true faces from the public. But when a man kills for the first time, it's all laid bare."_

Harry had taken those words to heart. Elijah, bless his soul, had only Harry's best interests at heart. If he had an option, Harry would have preferred not deceiving him. But deception was at the heart of survival, or so the Dursleys had beaten into him from a very young age. He had been all too excited when Elijah had first told him about magic and the existence of the Istanbul School of Magic. He'd been very chipper and enthusiastic. It had seemed to him the start of a new life.

Coming here had been a rude shock.

He'd never thought that English might not be the medium of instruction here. He had been forced to learn both Arabic and Persian. While he was exempt from submitting his assignments in either language, he knew that this exemption would be lifted from next year. It had been very difficult for him to communicate with others at first, but he had slowly begun understanding the languages, growing fluent int hem and finally reading and writing in them. Elijah had been surprised, he had seen, at the previous disciplinary meeting at his use of Arabic. Even the Headmistress had been thrown off guard. A razor thin smile curled his lips.

But merely learning the language had not been enough. The teachers had been easy enough to impress, for sure. They were mostly being taught languages, physics, math, the social sciences, chemistry and biology and that would continue to be the case for their first three years here. Harry was good at almost everything. It had led to his classmates getting alienated. They had begun calling him names behind his back.

No matter. He had wormed his way into the circles of the upperclassmen and they had begun instructing him in the ways of the world.

He had learned to tame his exuberance and moderate his facial expressions. Not doing so would mean telling others about who or what he was. His new identity was LaForge. It would be good if LaForge were to remain an identity as distinct from Harry Potter as possible. The best way to do that was to alter his mannerisms. Harry knew he had to change in order to become a different person. He had to become more serious, more sure of himself. People who were sure of themselves were the ones who won. Look at Vernon Dursley. He had been sure of himself, and so he had won against Harry who had had no confidence.

And he had to make sure that his way was blocked by no one. In the past, the Dursleys had blocked his advancement at every turn. Good marks were key to a good college. The Dursleys had tried to take that avenue of escape away from him. The strategy Harry had begun to apply (getting less marks than Dudley) would have led to him becoming a failure in life.

Harry clenched his fists. He would not be a failure. He had tasted captivity and he had tasted freedom. The only thing he now wanted to taste was revenge.

"Harry?" Rashid's voice brought him out of his tumultuous thoughts.

"We're here?" asked Harry, coming to.

"Umm, no," replied Rashid. Harry detected a nervousness within him he hadn't felt before. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"What is it?" asked Harry, a feeling of unease growing in his stomach.

Rashid swallowed and increased his walking speed somewhat. Harry increased his own to keep up with him.

"There are four men following us," Rashid murmured quietly in English.

"How can you be sure?" asked Harry equally softly.

"They've been behind us since we exited the restaurant and have kept a fixed distance between us and them."

"You've been keeping track of four men behind us?"

"You weren't talking to me and so I noticed them," replied Rashid, glowering at him briefly. Harry scratched the back of his head sheepishly before growing serious again.

"So what do we do?" he asked. His heart was beating at one twenty, and a slight panic seemed to be setting in. "And which ones are they?"

"Tall, clean shaven in a brown robe. His turban is black," replied Rashid, "And no, don't look at him!"

But it was too late. Harry LaForge had turned to find the man staring straight at him.

"Run!" screamed Harry and took off into an alley, Rashid close behind. They took off like two frightened deer being hunted by a pride of lions.

"Faster, faster!" moaned Rashid, looking behind. "They're catching up!"

"There's a four way split in the alley up ahead," gasped Harry as he ran. "Follow me, okay?"

Without waiting for acknowledgment, Harry ran into one of the alleys and entered a building. Rashid followed, swift on his heels. Harry's eyes searched for it, it had been there the last time he'd come and bingo! He ran up to the ladder and began climbing down.

"Harry!" said Rashid in an urgent whisper. "Are you insane? What if they corner us down there?"

"They won't," said Harry confidently. "There's a passageway which leads to another basement from there."

"Come on, then!" said Rashid as he hurriedly followed Harry down the ladder.

He was not a minute too soon. Almost as soon as they reached the bottom, the man following them came into the building. A quick glance revealed nothing and so he stepped out of the building and began looking for the two boys on the street.

Harry and Rashid, on the other hand, landed in the basement and ran towards the passageway.

"Are you sure this is it?" whispered Rashid.

"I've been out with Farooq and his gang more times than you can imagine, Rashid," replied Harry. "This will simple lead us to another part of the market."

Rashid picked up a piece of wood lying on the ground. It was the approximate shape and size of a baseball bat.

Harry raised his eyebrows in curiosity. "You sure you can manage that?" heasked skeptically.

"Better me than you," came the quick reply. Harry found he couldn't really disagree with that. Elijah was always gushing about Rashid's potential for professional fencing.

They both turned to walk down the damp, dark corridor. An eerie, faint light seemed to light it up. Harry felt a chill deep inside him. He didn't know what this corridor was used for, but it gave the feeling of something illicit and ominous. Fortunately, it wasn't very long. They reached the end in a short time.

"Wait!" said Rashid, before cautiously peering out of the door. It led straight out into the street. He looked back and gestured at Harry to follow him. Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. That was close.

They slipped into the crowd, their hearts in their mouths. That had been-

"Run!" screamed Rashid. Harry looked up to find one of the four running towards them, batting aside indignant shoppers on his way towards the boys.

"You and your stupid ideas!" snarled Rashid as they ran up that street.

"At least think of it this way," panted Harry, "There's just-"

"One more word out of your mouth and I'll hit you with this log! You'll jinx us!"

Harry wisely decided to keep shut and concentrate more of his breath on running. They had to run away from this guy and fast!

"Hey!" said Harry as an idea popped into his head. "Don't your father's people have a centre or something in this market?" Rashid's father was a politician. Comprehension dawned onto Rashid's face as he understood Harry's words. But then his expression turned frustrated.

"I could have taken us there," he panted, "If I knew where we are!"

Harry looked around them. He couldn't identify where they were either. He cursed and looked behind them. The man was gaining. Another minute and there would be no escape. But sadly, Harry was out of ideas. This was not an area of the market he knew.

Rashid turned into an alleyway and Harry followed, before bumping into Rashid who had come to an abrupt stop in front of him. Harry turned pale as he realised their predicament. It was a dead end. He turned back.

The man had caught up and was blocking the entrance of the alleyway. Harry swallowed. There wasn't any good way out of this. Now that they could see him, they could see that he was a muscular Pashtun. They were a race known for their physical prowess. There was no way either him or Rashid would be able to take on a fully grown Pashtun.

Unless...

The idea in his head was desperate. If it worked, Harry would call it a miracle. But it had to. There was no other way out of this.

"Got you!" said the man in heavily accented Arabic. "Slippery arseholes, running like nobody's business. Now, give me all the books and money on you."

Harry's brain kicked into overdrive. They had been sent by the guys who'd been playing against him? That made no sense!

An ominous cracking of the Pashtun's knuckles almost turned his legs to jelly. But before he could do anything, Rashid stepped forward. "You'll have to go through me first."

The Pashtun burst into laughter. "You, kid?" he mocked Rashid. "I eat babies like you for breakfast."

"Bring it on," said Rashid, his eyes hard.

The Pashtun's mocking smile turned dangerous, and before Harry could even process what was happening, he was on top of Rashid, fist cocked. But Rashid was quick and small, and he slipped out of the Pashtun's reach, rapping him on his head with the log. The Pashtun growled in anger as he turned to lunge at Rashid again.

Harry watched with horrified fascination as the scene unfolded in front of him. Rashid dancing fluidly out of the Pashtun's reach whenever he came too close and the log hitting him in those moments. Rashid was utilising his superior speed and flexibility to the maximum.

But it became increasingly clear as time went on that Rashid could not maintain this pace forever, while the Pashtun was under no such considerations. The man was openly mocking Rashid now, mocking his stamina, his mother, his family and his strength. Harry grit his teeth. It was now or never.

He bit his thumb hard enough to draw blood and winced as he watched it cover it. He took a deep breath and stared straight at the Pashtun who was laughing at Rashid's pathetically weak attempts to move out of his reach.

"Come on, little boy," mocked the Pashtun, "what are you going to do now, huh?"

Neither he, nor Rashid saw or heard Harry jump up from behind him and touch him on the neck with a blood soaked finger while murmuring a phrase. The Pashtun went rigid. Harry fervently prayed it had worked. He'd only read about this technique, it was a basic mind magic technique which numbed a person's motor neurons.

"Harry!" said Rashid in relief. "I thought you'd run away!"

But Harry was too busy staring at the man in front of him to reply. The man had fallen to the ground and was staring peacefully at the sky. His eyes were perfectly calm and relaxed as he simply stared at the clouds.

He turned to Rashid. "Rashid," he commanded, "give me that log." Rashid complied without question, his eyes wide at the scene before him.

Harry raised the log and gave the man a hard whack on the temple. The man's eyes fluttered close and a tiny bit of blood began leaking out from his temple.

"You killed him!" accused Rashid as Harry dropped the log.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I just saved you from this man and you're worrying about me killing someone. And no, he's not dead. Merely knocked unconscious. And come on! We have to move before someone finds us!"

Rashid nodded and fell into step behind Harry as they made their way out of the alley. Rashid gasped.

"What?" asked Harry.

"I know this place," said Rashid softly. "It's pretty close to my regular tailor's shop! Come on!"

They began walking swiftly towards wherever Rashid was taking them. As they did so, Rashid took a device out of his pockets and spoke something into it. After receiving an answer, he put it back in his pocket.

"Some of my father's people will be with us shortly, so don't worry," explained Rashid at Harry's quizzical look. Harry nodded as the two of them began walking faster.

But there was something very rotten about their luck today.

"Look who we have here," came a drawling voice. Both Rashid and Harry stiffened.

"It's the two brats we were told to find!" came a second voice.

"Looks like we'll make some money, fellas! One of them looks to be rich!" came a third voice.

The crowd around them thinned out as people stopped doing whatever they were and began looking at the show.

Dammit! Thought Harry. Where were the police? Why weren't any of these people helping them? Something had to be done!

All the three men before them were pure blooded Pashtuns, there was no doubt about it. And Harry knew that the first time was a fluke, he couldn't perform the same trick again. Rashid seemed to be thinking along similar lines, for all that came out of his mouth was a soft, "Oh no!"

"So now all we have to do is-" a blade pierced the neck of the Pashtun. Harry jumped back in shock as someone from the crowd screamed. The crowd panicked and began stampeding all around them. It was a highly dangerous situation. One wrong move and all would be over.

But before he could formulate a strategy, a hand grabbed him and began leading him along. Harry looked up to see a short, veiled woman. Another one was leading Rashid on and Harry could see Rashid's family's crest on their dress. Harry sighed as he closed his eyes. They had survived. He clutched his book bag close to him. They'd given up too much for him to let go of it now.

He looked left to find Rashid staring at him. They'd come past the stampeding crowd and the women had let go of their hands. All around them was a posse of guards carefully scanning the crowd.

Rashid smiled at Harry. It was a rare, honest smile which reached his eyes. He held out his hand.

_A friendship born in battle is the truest of friendships, _Elijah had said. Harry took his hand, and shook it firmly.


End file.
